


Mortal Fragrance

by NyxSolei



Category: K-pop, VIXX
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Epic, Gods, Historical Accuracy, M/M, Platonic Relationships, Poetry, Scents & Smells
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2020-09-28 17:49:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20429993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NyxSolei/pseuds/NyxSolei
Summary: “My love,” He cries out, “I am regretful.” Wonshik whispers, the human watching him with tired eyes as he speaks, “It seems that immortals have emotions too, and mine have caused tremendous pain.”





	Mortal Fragrance

**Author's Note:**

> Imported from VA, inspired by 'My Valentine'

  
  


** _\----------------------_ **

The warmth isn’t great, but the red hue emitting from the spread candles is enchanting enough to get lost within it, and forget about the winter’s bite. The colours illuminate softly on rich, dark veils, hanging from the top and dividing the room between satin and silk flowing cloth. The material is delicate, yet filled with such vigor to enhance the relaxing aura between the paper walls. Sweet scent of petals rides adjacent to the rims of the curtains, delivering brief pumps of smoke, gliding at the sheet of fabric.

In between the bare spots within the room, like treasure, there are countless golden ornaments, rising and falling from shining, following the dancing flames, just above. Some are covered with steam spent wax, falling to the ground and engulfing the gold in matt heat.

Bare feet that would walk there, would feel the slight, enthralling burn from the molten material.

Delicate fingers, with extended, sharp nails curve around the violet candle, testing, trying out to purchase for the craved heat.

The man hums in satisfaction as the wax slips on his skin, granting a well sought after bliss to his senses. It burns, and the pain stings, but dissolves, and the tender skin is left with remnants of a hot, pleasurable sensation.

A satisfied smirk spreads across his lips as he toys with the pliant ooze, pleased at the soft caress the room offers to his senses. He closes his saffron hued eyes and allows himself to be nourished with the exquisite joy his dwelling brings.

Briefly, he raises his hand, attracting the lines of twirling smoke to tickle at his nose, only to find an odd scent hiding between what should ne.

The scent of such alluring grade- a shiver runs down his spine, calling his senses to perk at that one, thin line aroma. It’s a colorful fragrance, so different from what he is used to bathe in, it’s unforgettable, and each part of him wants to reach for the source of it, let himself drown within it.

Drown within the sweetness a human produces.

With a swift motion, he moves the thick veils around him, the pull accompanied by the rustle of forgotten fold at his feet, and smoke, flying at his impressive figure. Belts of red and aureate hue hover as he walks to the window, heartbeat rising as the scent he yearns for get stronger. His pulse drums against his sweat-showered neck and he must close his eyes once more to focus. His chest rises and falls, filling himself with that outworldly fragrance of a sweet, innocent human. The tips of his fingers caress the wooden frame of the only, thin layer that excludes him from the rest of the world, where his eyes lock on the frail figure of the aroma’s source.

His glowing, xanthous orbs watch the human move, and with each delicate step his heat rises.

It has been long since he longed for human company, and the alluring fragrance is but a mere reminder to his primal needs. He licks his dry lips, covering them in a new sheet of sheen as he sets his mind on the man that would become his next prey. The taste of his aroma tingles on the tip of his tongue and he allows himself to roll the feeling down his parched throat one last time before the gumiho descends to rest for the remaining time of the night.

** _\----------------------_ **

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


** _\----------------------_ **

The streets of the capital are always lively, even at night, when most humans are asleep- or so they lie to themselves. Most of them, at those hours, allow their bodies to fall into primal needs, whereas at daylight they cannot show those. Laughter and drinks- amongst other pleasuraties- the demands that can only be made quietly.

When the sun is high, and the howling winter wind dances around the spread fabrics of merchants, humans must listen to their rules, boundaries, and be careful not to slip. A hidden laughter. The caress of lashes over blooming cheeks. The slight reveal of a pale wrist.

Ministrations and invitations to play.

However, restraining their instincts is not the only boundary they must accommodate to, as humans had gathered themselves around a king, and by that, they have created rules for themselves. Rules that divide humans into classes, writing boldly what each man and woman can or cannot do, according to what their king says.

It’s an amusement he cannot fathom to understand, for in his eyes- all humans are prey. Some are harder to captivate, some fall to his feet with no struggle. A fig larger than it sisters to the branch may be no sweeter, all he has to do is to reach out and bite, have a taste.

The very base of those rules, is the solemn reason that he is now standing from afar, watching with desire at his selected prey- a man with pale skin, long, thin limbs, a beautiful braid of raven colour, soft eyes and lips. The human is standing at the bottom of a stone wall, dividing the outer rim of the city- where commoners and merchants would roam, to the inner ring, where scholars and royalty dwells. He should be inside that ring, but courting a human is a task that tends to bind him into acting out of essence.

His prey is leaning on a nearby tree, eyes closed as the wind carries the words of a lecturer from the other side of the wall. It seems to be poetry that it heaves, and the man’s relaxed features can only confirm that he is a lover of the written art.

The wind rises, leafs breaking from their stems, and fall quietly at the human’s feet. With a quick glance, he notes that his prey is wearing an interesting choice of fabric- a simple, airy outfit, one that he would expect to see on a farmer or a hunter, yet the man has such delicate features, the possibility he is one is ridiculous. There is no dirt on the blue cloth, no damage done to the rims of it, no rips of labor decorating it. Yet, here is a man- a human, standing in commoner clothes, in the commoner’s rings.

What an odd victim he had chosen this time.

Then, he notices the shining material on his wrist. An interesting complex of golden beads, shimmering against the sunlight, marking the fraud of a sacred bone. It amuses him, and a smile spreads on his lips, as he knows he has chosen an interesting target indeed.

The delicious sound of poems being read reaches his ears, but when he hears a soft, pleased sigh, he notes that it is not his own voice.

But his.

A melodious tone that he would like to continue listening to, day and night, night like day, more and more vigorous within his own paper walls and dark curtains. A voice that would become his treasure. Rising sparks of wanting, echoing at the thin confines of his house, numbly reaching the streets as within the satin-decorated dwelling it would wield volumes over volumes or joy and satisfaction

He licks his dry lips. Enough stalking- needs must be fulfilled.

The preacher on the other side of the wall reads loudly, voice indicating that he is no longer in his youth. He reads poetry, the kind that humans would listen to at night, alone, when all kinds of heat would rise within their limbs to the sound of it. It's endearing to see the fraud commoner listening to such scandalous content, especially when the man is at a place where he should be not.

"Our kingdom must be lacking for the prince to reach to the outer ring and listen to such words." He says, startling the human, meeting with his intense gaze as he wakes from the tree, stepping slightly closer to the one disturbing the silence.

"Does the royal library lack in scrolls or poetry? Or is it that my lord does not want his servants to know he, too, enjoys listening to such ungraceful poems."

He has chosen well it seems, for the prince’s dark orbs are pools that he would gladly get lost within. However, the fierceness of his expression hints that the prince does not favor being disturbed in such manner, and his composure nearly falters as his scent becomes more pungent with anger.

The young prince shifts away and turns to walk back in the direction of the inner ring entrance. Even to the untrained eye, the man would not come across as a commoner, as every movement of his fragile body is graceful, calculated and flowing, as if the wind itself is a guide to his limbs. The mortal keeps his head hung high, back straight and he wonders for a moment how the human would look differents, when he would not listen to rules and obligations, rather than allowing his instincts to overtake him.

His eyes flash dangerously in saffron as he watches his chance fade between bustling streets. With a sigh, he joins his prey in walk, quietly, until he is but a whisper away from the prince.

“My handsome fatal foe,” He recites, and the royalty halts, listening.

“Why are you gone so long? I cannot stop my heart from trembling, missing you.” His voice rides the slight breeze between them, and his eyes watch keenly as the man’s hue becomes dusted in crimson blush, “You put sugar on the tip of my nose.”

The human shivers and he can’t help but triumphantly curve his lips as he recites the last line he would need for this to allure.

“I cannot lick it, though it smells so nice.”

Abruptly, the prince in hiding turns- neck, cheeks and ears covered in an endearing red color. Seems that the prince is not familiar with being courted and sought after.

There’s a beat, hearts drumming in their cages like a hummingbird yearning for freedom- a rhythm for the chirping magpies on the adjacent tree, and swing for the shouting merchant. Wind that plays over cloth like the strings of a Gayageum accompanies the choir, but it is always the beating of hearts and the trickle of sweat that is the essence of this composition.

“Who are you?” The prince boldly asks, the confusion and slight wanton features of his soft face are far too charming for an earthy language like that. He wonders how many more unrefined sides does the prince holds.

“Scholar Kim Wonshik.” He replies, restraining any instinct to show his non-human side. If a prey would fall to him, it would be by the mortal rules.

“May I ask what his majesty,” Wonshik gestures at the golden ornament to the human’s thin wrist, receiving as an immediate answer a shuffle of clothes to hide the luxury, “Does in an unguarded, low-”

“Shh.” The prince grasps for his hands and hushes him, “I am Taekwoon here.” He confirms with the same intense gaze that Wonshik grows fond of by the moment.

He watches as the mortal moves, looking left and right in fear anyone would find their secret- their banned words spoken into the air. His eyes follow with adoration as Taekwoon’s grip on his hand becomes stronger, and not a moment later, he is lead to an alley where the mortal stops and exchanges gazes with Wonshik.

They are alone as the nearby streets continue to their own ministrations, excluding the two in plain sight. Here, where countless humans have been before, each spreading their own scent, Wonshik would expect the calling fragrance of the prince to mix amongst other numb scents. However, similarly to the night prior, his aroma is so distinctive and inviting, it’s a thrill that he rarely allows himself to drown in and take him completely. It nearly becomes a game within his heart and mind- would his prey fall to him, or rather he shall break first?

“Why would a scholar be at the outer ring of the capital?” The human’s voice snaps back his attention.

“Why would the prince be, your majesty?” Wonshik slyly replies, watching the discontent on the other’s features.

“Answer me.” The human demands. Wonshik hums and folds his arms before him, hiding his pale palms under his favoured dark robes.

“Very well, my prince.” He plays his game, “I am fond of such love poems myself, and my personal library lacks in new material.” Wonshik boldly states, voice unwavering at his scandalous answer.

The human bites his lip, “The poem you have rec-” He swallows under Wonshik’s heavy gaze, “Recited,” Taekwoon breathes in, “Is it from your library?” The struggle to draw those words from the prince’s pretty mouth is an excitement he did not expect to face. How sweet of the mortal to be shy this way, when all mortals are similar in their essence. In their needs.

It seems it would be easier to lure the human than he previously assumed.

He brings a milky hand between them, opening it before his prey, slightly revealing hidden skin, just below his palm, where an unblemished limb lays. Promising much more than meets the eye.

Wonshik can hear the human’s breath hitching audibly at the unspoken invitation and it exhilarates him - the source of that sweet, sweet odor is at the tip of his fingers, just a bit out of reach, like a forbidden fruit.

“I can show you.” The immortal whispers and the noises of the world become louder than ever as his mortal companion hesitates in complete stillness. They do not move, and Wonshik does not yield from his position, nor from his words. He would not need to, as he knows that like the rise of sun each day, like the spring that would conquer the winter, like the gush of stream into the east sea, prince Taekwoon would take his hand.

** _\----------------------_ **

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


** _\----------------------_ **

“Oh, gods above me, please aid me,” The human miserably mumbles, “Please aid me not to hit the person that has made this mess.”

Wonshik snorts, shifting on the pillows that have been laid on the floor, taking the mesh material spread below with him as he watches the mortal work endlessly in cleaning his home.

“There are no gods.” The immortal replies with a hint of amusements, “I thought you would know that by now, considering you are working for me.” He sneaks another strawberry to his mouth. If there is anything Wonshik adores about winter, it is the fruits blooming secretly between snowy hills and fields. They are quite hard to find, but taste so sweet.

“It is an expression, Wonshik-ah.” The human groans in frustration, picking up more hardened wax from the floor, “Besides, if you are the only deity in this world, humans would have no hope. There have to be more.”

“Wonshik-ah?” The immortal speaks with his mouth full, “I am older than you by eons, and you address me so casually?” He retorts jokingly, receiving a shrug in reply, “There are more, they are just far worse than me.” The immortal materializes in his hand a large, shining, blue bead, more beautiful than moonlight on a stream, “They do not have this.”

“Yes, yes,” The human answers half-heartedly as he cleans the expensive fabrics Wonshik had hung prior, “You have a shining bead of wisdom, I remember.”

Wonshik frowns, making the bead vanish into thin air, hiding it from the world, “You are by far the most unplayful human I have ever encountered, Jaehwan.” The immortal pouts, and if he was not the most terrifying legend in all three kingdoms, one could describe the action as humane and endearing. However, not Jaehwan.

The man have been a servant for Wonshik for many years now, and the Gumiho has been lucky enough to watch his boyish features fade and bloom into the ones of a man- face becoming sharper, lips poutier and fuller, eyes falling into place with a slight crease at their end. He was beautiful before he had grown, however, Jaehwan’s effloresce had only made his appearance far more delicate and endearing than before.

Even on the night the two have met, when Wonshik had no companion for ages and ages, he was beautiful. Eyes sparkling in pure fear as he watched Wonshik towering above him with xanthous eyes, and all of his nine tails spread in a massive, impressive display. The immortal watched as the human cowered before him, rain falling on both of them and lightning illuminating Wonshik’s striking features. Jaehwan was filled with dirt, covered in mud and an easy prey. However, upon a closer inspection, the immortal figured that it is not death that Jaehwan feared, but rather the possibility he would continue to live in such manner.

In an uncharacteristic swing of actions, Wonshik had brought the human to his house, where he cared for him and made him a servant. From that moment, Jaehwan lacked in none.

Wonshik truly loves him as a brother, and that thought is disturbing for an immortal like Gumiho.

Humans live and die fast as the howling wind, but only immortals stay.

He had offered a taste of the Yeowu Guseul to the human, but had received a shrieking scream- “Over my dead body would I kiss you!”

Wonshik must respect that, and watch the man that grows older and older by the moment, work with no stop at his household, whenever he isn’t courting women.

“I clean, and I clean, do you ever do anything but mess?” Jaehwan grumbles, picking up the last droplet of wax from the wooden floor. His commoner clothes must have acquired the stench of burnt candles. He would give him money to get new drapes soon.

“I eat hearts.” Wonshik replies, feeling in an exceptional good mood, as he had a wonderful time with his human prey, “I court people. What else should the most knowledgeable being do?” The scent of the prince still lingers at the tips of his sharp nails and a shiver runs down his spine, remembering how soft and warm the human felt in his grasp. He brings his palm to his nose, inhaling the mortal fragrance lingering on it, drowning within the sweet aroma. His nails grow longer, and his tails grow further as the sensation spreads like wildfire within his body.

“I will tell you what you should not do, Wonshik-ah,” Jaehwan preaches, now folding the fabrics neatly at a corner far away, “First, you should never show too much affection to your lovers, it never ends well.” Jaehwan sounds almost sombre, “Secondly, you should tell me to clean when you make a small mess. Why is it you can never make a smaller mess? Why must it be a complete tsunami within your room?”

“You sound like a human mother.” Wonshik hums in delight, teasing as he sneaks another strawberry.

“That is because you act like a human child!” Jaehwan retorts, placing the last of the dark cloth away, and stands up, “If I am done here, may I be excused?”

Wonshik waves his hand, “Go home, Jaehwan.” The immortal makes no attempt to stand, “Be careful out there.”

Jaehwan nods, bows, and opens the moving door, unveiling an unfamiliar human that was about to knock. Wonshik hastily notices the baffled prince, and with a snap of his fingers, hides away all of his non-human features.

The wind howls as Jaehwan leaves, and it carries the scent of Taekwoon inside, waking every sense in Wonshik’s body. The fragrance is rich, pungent as the Gumiho does not need to share it with the rest of the capital. It’s only them, confined by paper walls.

“Your majesty.” Wonshik rises and bows in respect, inhaling the breeze. Such an exhilarating moment, to be on his knees, in front of someone much weaker, frailer, feeble and fragile than him. The sweetness of the aroma engulfing him, makes him want to do exactly that- rest at his knees and immerse with the sensory delight Taekwoon brings. There are not many humans in the past that had managed to put him on leash that way, but those who have- all found the same end.

“Rise, please,” Taekwoon ushers, “I am Taekwoon here, as I have said priorly.”

Wonshik obliges, because the human rules dictate so, “You have arrived,” A beat, their gazes lock, “Taekwoon.” The immortal tastes the name on his tongue. What a delicious mixture of scent and name, intriguing too.

“Yes, I-” The prince’s cheeks are dusted with crimson, the proximity of his host is nearly invading, “I am interested..” The shy human tries, but Wonshik’s studying gaze weakens his will, “In poetry.”

“Very well.” Wonshik whispers, making a gesture that in time the prince would become familiar with- He places his hand, a milky wrist uncovered in front of his guest, inviting Taekwoon to touch. The thrill and burn within his skin when the human makes contact between them is unimaginable for mortals. It rides from the very first spot that had connected them both, through his limbs, to his drumming heart, amplifying the beat as if Wonshik should head to war. A flame lights up in his chest, and he knows, he knows by the scent and effect on him that he should court this man, and make him his own.

He should capture his prey.

** _\----------------------_ **

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


** _\----------------------_ **

Nights spent in comfort, hidden away from the world as the darkness covers the land, offering a shadow to all those that do not wish to be seen. However, it is only required of one to search in order to find how living the kingdom is at that time, as men and women as one would lead themselves into an epoch of pleasure. They have confined themselves within walls, thinking that they would become unseen, but immortals can smell it all- the joy, the wanton, the slight anguish as the night ends. They can hear the laughter and chatter from afar, as humans would share their deepest secrets at those hours, thinking that they are safe within those walls.

However, if the Gumiho willed so, they would have been all eradicated as no one is safe from those who are stronger. Nonetheless, Wonshik would not do such a pointless massacre, as he lives his life with enough entertainment from humans.

The one sitting in his library, holding a scroll as his eyes go over the beautifully lines characters on it, is more than Wonshik could have asked for now. The human is eager to read those scandalous love poems, and pays visits to the immortal many times, but speaks no words besides the formalities. It is endearing, to say the least, and if Wonshik wouldn’t have known better, Taekwoon could have come across as a beautiful statue when he sits motionlessly and reads.

His dark eyes sparkle from the feeble candlelight, and the sheen over his raven hair is stunning. The commoner clothes that fit his body just enough to slightly reveal his wrists are charming, and even the way his chest rises and falls with his soft breaths is captivating. Such a human gesture, but so is his fragrance.

So close, just at the tip of Wonshik’s fingers, but so far, as he has to witness the beauty from the corner of the room.

It has been many nights that Taekwoon had become familiar with his household, and while being the patient being Wonshik is, he too, needs to listen to his yearns and wishes. It is not coincidental that he had brought the prince to the library.

The immortal rises from place, an unusual action for their meetings. The shuffle of clothes and pillows is louder than ever within the library walls and halls. The room is lit by a solemn, simple candle as darkness dances around it, engulfing both noise and light as one.

"Taekwoon." The mortal's name is drawn from his lips in a laconic, hushed whisper, as Wonshik places his arm over the human's shoulder.

The prince drops the scroll, a sinister noise to their shared silence, and turns to look at his host with curious eyes. For a moment, Wonshik is unmitigated that his composure regarding the prince would falter. However, with a a fall of his eyelashes against his cheek, he wills the temptation away.

Instead, the grip on the mortal's shoulder tightens.

"Allow me." He says, "I would like to recommend a poem for his majesty."

The fascination within the man’s expression makes the drumming of his mortal heart far more exhilarating as his fingers dip further into the thick layer of rich fabric, just above skin. The ethereal hot sensation that matches holding the human’s soft hand is missing, but feeling his heart below his hand, beating, living, whispering untold secrets that cannot form into words, is a sensation that the immortal would gladly bask in.

The human nods, as all humans would with the gumiho's fierce gaze upon them. His eyes travel from Taekwoon’s pitch orbs, to his raven hair. Some strands are mismatched, as it is late and no servant would prepare the prince for leaving. Knowing that his mortal visits him in secret from rules and laws is exciting, but knowing he is only a mere, slightest glide away from having the man’s locks between his fingertips is invigorating.

Wonshik draws away the hand, removing himself before the temptation would spark the correct instinct and his restraint would falter. Instead, he gracefully moves, as silent as possible, heading towards a certain area within his library, carrying after him a long veil of fabric, caressing the floor with it.

His hand blindly chose the scroll, as done many times before, and although knowing the contents of it by heart, the immortal regales himself by reading it, character by character, as if courting for the very first time.

“You and me, and me and you,” He reads, taking a step back towards the light, towards the prince, “So much in love are we.” His eyes ride up from the scroll, admiring how the mortal’s breath hitches when he speak those words. It is indeed a bold choice of poem, but Wonshik had been pliant for long enough. The want and will burns under his shell, becoming a fiery typhoon as he nearly drowns in curious, human eyes.

“So much in love,” He continues, the spoken ever so familiar on his tongue. As he walks further, the scent becomes more pungent, and he can feel Taekwoon’s will palpitating between the sweet fragrance as well. How fragile is their distance, how well they have kept each other to themselves. Like a dancing flame, the purlieu of the two is just a breath away, an audible gasp of joy and submission to their instincts.

“Like bathing in fire are we.” Wonshik ends the line, nearly next to his guest. Then, his figure slowly sinks to his knees, sitting close, but far enough from the emitter of scent, scroll in hand and gaze avoidant.

“We knead and shape a clod of clay into a shape of you and me.” The odor is stronger than ever as the scandalous sentence is spoken with his low voice. Wonshik grips the scroll harder, unwilling to make a move and break the fragile facade.

“We smash, trash our two figures,” He can feel Taekwoon’s fragrance approaching, “add water to admix the debris.” His voice loses volume, almost intimate as he reads the poem. The flame falters some as cool wind passes through the warmness of the room. He can see the prince shiver at it, and notices the solemn bead of shining sweat, dripping down his temple to his chin. A red dust decorates his delicate features and Wonshik couldn’t find it any more endearing to sight.

“To again knead and shape fresh figures of you and me.” The immortal allows the scroll to return to its wrapped state, slowly, excruciatingly so, bringing the sound of brush of paper out to the silent room. As it folds, the mortal’s breath becomes louder, vocal, tender. Wonshik needs no scroll to finish his words.

His eyes rise to meet the prince’s, piercing through with his gaze of adoration towards the human as he speaks the next line.

“In my clay then, you will abide, and in yours, there I will be.”

The prince reaches to touche and bring closer the frame of his host, breath ragged as he acts against the rules he has been taught and allows his instincts to take over, lips clashing with an unfamiliar pair. Plush, soft and warm as they dance with one another, connecting and sealing their yearnings for each other for the first time.

His prey sparks a pleasurable fire within his heart, and the submission of the prince to Wonshik’s courting is enjoyable in an untameable manner- wild and aggressive in the form of a pliant, reserved human.

Not just any human.

_His human._

Wonshik pulls away with a pleased smile, engulfing the dazed man within his arms, watching lovingly as he has added a new lover to his vast history. There is something intimate yet eternal in this moment, as his eyes are admiring the prince’s yearning gaze, as he has done in the past with so many lovers.

“I am a Gumiho, Taekwoon.” The immortal warns.

“So you are.” The prince bravely replies, earning an impressive display of his host’s transformation. A man that blinks his eyes into a different, intriguing hue and grows out not one, but nine vixen tails. Wonshik tilts his head slightly, vision fixed on the sweet-scented unfearing human.

“You are not afraid.” He states, surprised by the bravery.

“Not of you.” Taekwoon hums softly, his breath reaching the immortal’s skin.

“My, my, human, I have eaten more than a thousand hearts, how are you so adamant I would not take yours too?” Wonshik muses, sharp nails barely touching the fabric on the prince’s back.

“You have courted me.” The human is reaching closer, and the immortal wants to taste the lips of the most sweet, pungent being in the room, “I can see,” He whispers and Wonshik’s saffron eyes beam for a moment, “And feel, that you have wanted me as I have wanted you.”

With a satisfied growl, Wonshik waves one his tails, forcing the flame of the candle to ease itself into smoke and closes the gap between their wanton lips.

** _\----------------------_ **

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


** _\----------------------_ **

Spring chases the frost away as time dways forward. Hidden heat that was treasured and confined between walls blooms into a breathtaking floral display. The white, regal blossom of the plum entwines within the thick, vibrant hibiscus tree. Both rising differently, but carressing the broad roots in the same manner nonetheless.

A fragile confession turns into a fiery romance under the warm sun, lending its beauty to those who seek. Even at night, when most humans descend to their homes, finding their places within flushed hands to draw them in, the sunny remnants of the day follow.

New sheets of vibrant red replace the dark ones of the winter, offering an enchanting scent of new flowers that have just sprouted. The aroma of wine embraces the room when flora is not enough, invigorating and intoxicating. Its dark hue shines slightly against the flame of the white candles, inviting those who inhabit the enclosed home, the small space between two entities.

The plum blossom is familiar with its host and allows itself to give in, become tainted with the red, red colours of the hibiscus.

“I want to be your love for ever and ever,” Plush lips work the written characters out, needing no more but a hushed tone to breathe the words on his lover’s skin. The prince lays on his side, eyes reflecting the dance of flame above them, and his host, in front of him, lying and listening to how breathtakingly he reads the poem. It is a thrill Wonshik never tires of- the soft, pliant voice of the prince, speaking such beautiful words.

“Without any break or decay,” Taekwoon’s melodious murmur is greater than any music the immortal had ever heard, “When the hills are all flat, the rivers are all dry.”

Wonshik hums in appreciation, his sharp nails reaching to embrace lightly the human’s warm hand. The fragrance his human produces is richer than any intoxicating wine, and like a butterfly attracted to a flame, Wonshik too, wants to be burned by the sweet opiate that is Taekwoon’s scent. His clothes and hung cloth all smell like the remnants of their nights together, reading poetry playfully until the last of candles goes out, turning into a twirling, tantalizing trail of smoke.

“When it thunders in winter, when it snows in summer.” The princes closes his smaller hand over his lover’s large one, lending his heat to the one that seeks it, “When heaven and earth mingle,” He lifts his shining dark eyes, snatching a breath away from the gumiho, “Not till then will I part from you.”

The scroll folds and candles turn to smoke, spending their molten wax over the aromatic silk.

The night is darker when sight is not needed.

** _\----------------------_ **

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


** _\----------------------_ **

Along with the rise of blossom, there are nights when nature does not agree even with the most powerful of immortals, for nature has always existed, yet immortals were created by it.

Nights of raging storms, harshly blowing over the kingdom, bending trees to its will and tearing petals apart. Leafs rustle like an out of tune orchestra, as thunder drums violently on the ground, burning any living beneath its wrath.

On night such as these, the prince often stays at the palace, not wanting to risk a strange behaviour, even for the sake of his lover. The immortal has learned how colorless the world is when alone, especially when his human’s tantalizing odor still lingers in his room.

On night such as these, he would visit Jaehwan, entertaining himself with his loyal friend. They would often ramble about this and that - which lady Jaehwan is currently courting and seeing, or which flavor of wine tastes better this year. Wonshik would lose track of time and cause the human to care for him even out of the immortal’s household.

It is but a stone path down the hill for the gumiho, and even though the rain does not cease or relent into ease, the immortal walks with patience, grace, feeling the scent of his maker engulfing him as he strolls with no fear of the storm.

He knocks on the wooden door out of habit, respecting the human’s wish for him to do so. However, moments pass and there is no unsettled grunt, or a loud bitter shout for Wonshik to leave and go away as usually would be.

The immortal places his extended fingers on the door and listens as voices of nature overpower what should have been Jaehwan’s bickering. He inhales the cold air, searching for his friend’s earthy fragrance.

The scents of a simple house in the outer ring mix together in this storm, forcing the immortal to focus, let go of his mortal facade and allow his body to transform to its origin.

Silence. There’s no answer - only the heavy strike of thunder.

He pushes the door away, entering a home that smells so weakly of its owner. His eyes spark in yellow as he fumed at the sight, lit by the moon and lightning.

Scattered books, torn clothes and riches that Wonshik had gifted his friend are sown on the stained floor. Candles are knocked over and paper walls are ruptured brutally.

He focuses on the scents as he walks between mess and terror, finding with his senses those unfamiliar, dirty, earthly scents.

_Thieves._

He runs before he can think, reaching Jaehwan’s bedroom, finally finding the man he was looking for. Sprawled on the floor with night robes mismatched, limbs lying with no order. Ditched.

Humans are fragile, that much he knows, but to think they would aimlessly lash at one another, battling like beasts over pret is infuriating.

Nature had created them all, and when the immortal cradles the lifeless form of his friend, all he can think of is how low are those breakable humans to end what belongs to him unnaturally. They’ve dared to mess with an immortal’s belongings.

Anger is an emotion felt in order to survive, to conquer, to teach of the natural order of beings. The immortal would not tolerate his belongings, let alone servants, to be harmed. No, that would spike his anger.

With a whirl of his hand, the body turns to petals, flying out and away to join the nature in an endless life. There is some heat pooling behind his eyes, but the immortal had learned in his eons of existence that crying is a needless action, but not so violence.

“I will make them pay for the loss of your scent.”

** _\----------------------_ **

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


** _\----------------------_ **

When nature and immortals walk hand in hand, the power wielded by those is endless. Raging fire from the sky, winds that carry poisonous smoke and water that drag into the abyss anyone in their way.

Humans are outmatched by the natural order of life, as moon hides between wicked clouds of smoke. Fire that never seems to be bothered by the frosted, violent rain spreads over rooftops, clutching within its lethal claws the outer ring. In the hinge of flames a sheet of yellow rides, inhaling the unforgettable fragrance of burn, listening to the screams of humans running away from the storm caused by the wave of hand of the gumiho.

The most evil, detested being in all kingdom, preying after mortals in order to continue living. With his knowledge, revenge is nothing but a game to alleviate his bleeding wound that Jaehwan has left when dying.

There are endless ways to demolish a city, and Wonshik knows every single one of them.

Stones roll down the cliffs surrounding the capital, pushed with a grunt of a vixen immortal, his unrelenting gaze watches as most scents perish.

They all perish, to make up for the one scent that he truly feels its absence.

“Jaehwan…” He mumbles, raising his hand to lift some of the fume that has reached the high of the mountains, where he stands.

Darkness and light mix with one another just as the sky and land. However, the chaos he has created in his friend’s name does nothing to settle his aching heart.

He isn’t allowed to dwell in agony as the voices of horses reach near. He turns, twirling his tails, prepared to face any human that dares to cross paths with him. His eyes glow, alerted.

The hoses stop, their drumming feet coming to a halt and carrying a single, pungent, familiar, sweet fragrance that causes his heart to drop.

“Taekwoon.”

The light from his eyes dies out and his raised tails fall limply as the vision of the prince becomes clearer. That intense gaze Wonshik couldn’t get enough of before is shaking him to his very essence. The prince walks in calculated, heavy steps towards the immortal, sword in his hand and fire in his eyes.

“Wonshik.” His disappointed voice splits the numb sounds of war from below, “What did you do?” He gasps, smoke choking.

For a moment, that melodious tone sparks something completely different from his rage. Nights of endless ushered whispers until their scents become one and the immortal could not tell parat one from another. He did not wish to do so.

The crow cries and reminds him of the present - when there is something, someone, missing from his perfect scenery. It could have lasted a human lifetime, he could have embraces his human and offer him a taste of eternity.

But it was all demolished when those mortals decided to take away Jaehwan. He never harmed anyone, never acted wrong, so why? Why?

The pain is blinding as the immortal struggles to understand how can any living being do something so pointlessly cruel.

His saffron orbs light in fury as he swings his sharp claws ath the prince.

“You killed him. You killed Jaehwan.” He speaks, accusing anyone in sight as countless humans he had consumed their energies are entwined with his low, seething growls. Wind rises, picking up small stones from the ground and filling the armed men’s eyes with dust. It is all him, all his doings, all his rage.

“I am sorry, Wonshik.” The prince offers, “He should not have died.”

The gumiho screams, waving his claws, summoning fire to engulf them. Taekwoon takes a terrified step back and the immortal knows there’s no going back. With his gruesome true features, he had killed their shared love.

“Stop!” The prince pleads, “You are threatening my people, I am to give you one last chance to yield!”

But Wonshik does not.

Rocks are flying and burnt ground chases the soldiers away, leaving the two alone. Thunder strikes and a plum tree falls, joining the torn grass that turns to ash at their feet. They dance in a violent display with one another- fragrance rising and mixing in a menacing manner until the gumiho cannot tell one from another. Grunts and shouts spark, as they twirl around wildfire, matching the echoing yells of war with the beats of iron against skin.

It hurts, but he cannot stop, he cannot think, cannot see.

Then, the scent becomes stronger, and suddenly he can tell apart himself from Taekwoon. The sky is light in red and the blood drawn from a mortal body is reflecting the crimson all around them.

It strikes his very core, when the sweetest scent is leaking, when the human that he has loved so much is falling like the plum, his odor becoming one with the stench of fire.

Wonshik screams in a moment of clarity, asking his creator to bring an end to the massacre. How childish of a timeless immortal to think that one’s life are equal of thousands. How immature of him to act so carelessly towards the solemn human that has made his life exciting and rich. Truly, the most knowledgeable being, created by nature, and taught a lesson by nature.

It is silent before the rain starts to wash remnants of human scents into the sea. Forgotten, gone, unknown to the immortal that caused all this.

His dark eyes look at the catastrophic outcome of his actions - a city in pitch black, smelling of death and sorrow. A shiver runs down his spine as a familiar voice coughs out remnants of life.

“Taekwoon.” His eyes fill with cold anguish as he reaches for the prince’s frail, shivering figure, painted in carmine ooze.

Wonshik bites his lips and wishes for it all to be gone. For everything to revert to the most wonderful winter he had in eons, when the mortal fragrance dissipating into the storm was his, and his only.

But humans are fragile like that.

“My love,” He cries out, “I am regretful.” Wonshik whispers, the human watching him with tired eyes as he speaks, “It seems that immortals have emotions too, and mine have caused tremendous pain.”

He clutches at the human, fingers digging into broken armor, moving along the beautiful lines of his lover. Even at the brink of extinction, Wonshik is enamored by the delicate features.

Taekwoon hums softly, and there is not much more needed to say. The love that the gumiho considered to be gone and slain, is still very much alive.

How regretful it is that the human containing this love, will not be for very longer.

“I want to savour you,” Wonshik confesses, tears streaming down, warm and agonized, “My favourite scent of all.”

He materializes a shining, blue bead, holding his power and knowledge. Once it seemed as if every single being is outmatched when Wonshik holds of the Yeowu Guseul, but now, it seems that not the bead creates power, rather than its wielder.

In his essence, Wonshik has been taught human rules, human nature and human values, and so- human emotions. Love, happiness, anger, pain, regret and sorrow. He feels all those at once, aching from within his inhuman body.

“I still love you.” The gumiho breathes, holding onto the scent that may vanish because of him, “Please, love, allow me to mend what I can.”

Taekwoon moans in pain, blood leaking from his lips.

“Allow me to continue love you and show you my repentance.”

** _\----------------------_ **

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


** _\----------------------_ **

_We bid each other farewell beside the hill,_

_As day meets dusk, I close the wooden gate._

_Next year, in spring, there will be green grass again,_

_But will my honoured friend return?_

** _\----------------------_ **

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


** _\----------------------_ **

The years have gone by and the legend of Gumiho became but a mere children story. Perhaps it has folded itself within the sheets of time, becoming a leaf that may someday become a beautiful tree that will bear fruits.

The story of that nameless city, within a nameless kingdom, had become wind itself, a whisper that even those who want to listen to, cannot, as many cities - better, evolved, safer have been built in its name, and some remain still to this very day.

Humans had remained fragile, but immortals have become satisfied with their creator hiding them away, and turning them into look-alikes of humans. Many of nature’s children no longer want to be feared of, as the power they seek becomes much more satisfying when it comes from admiration and love.

As legends die, new legends rise, and the once-believed immortals have become a different type of legend, the one that sparks belief from humans that support and adore their actions. Companies run by humans, for what should be humans, but not, are offering they type of glory that any immortal would seek.

Any immortal with glowing, yellow eyes that is willing to show himself, and his once-human lover on stage. They are not the only survivors of such historical legends, however, they have survived eons and eons with one another to watch beloved friends reincarnate and become a myth too.

Nature is a humble creator, and gumiho Kim Wonshik could not be any more grateful for its mercy. It had gifted him with not just a single truthful friend, but with many more with such sweet, distinct scents that he would never feel in absence again, so that his agony would be pacified.

It is a secret, the glance of saffron eyes and the enchanting fragrances that rise on stage, but even in hiding, it is more than enough to satisfy his primal needs that have not changed ever since being created.

Love.

Want.

Cardinal pleasure.

And the lingering scent of Jung Taekwoon.

** _\----------------------_ **

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I know..that the last part is kind of uncharacteristically fluffy for me, but I have to confess- most of the fic was uh, written from the ER.
> 
> Poetry used in this fic:
> 
> Farewell (II) \ Wang Wei  
God! \ Yufeu Folk  
Song of Me and You (Clay Figures) \ Guan Daosheng  
Idiot Thoughts \ Feng Menglong


End file.
